Porthcurno: Where the World First Went Wireless

Who knew? Major history and technological invention was made right here in the clear turquoise waters and fine golden sands of Porthcurno beach. In the photo above, I'm standing really close to where the very first international telegraph cable was lugged up on shore. 

It’s also where—believe it or not—one of the world’s first "phishing" attempts may have taken place. It’s a mix of heavy science and high-stakes history, but I’ll skip the dry bits and stick to the juicy, "can-you-believe-it" moments. 

In the late 1800s, the telegram, which uses Morse code, was the quickest way to send a message; sort of like social media but with dots and dashes instead of words and pictures. (Imagine how hard it was to convey emotion without smiley faces.) These messages flew magically across the globe via a massive network of wires and cables.

About 150 years ago, the shore-end of the very first international telegraph cable—an unthinkably heavy, miles-long beast—was hauled out of the Atlantic like a giant, wriggling sea serpent and dragged up onto Porthcurno beach. Right here. This single connection would eventually link Britain to India and the furthest reaches of the Empire, turning this quiet Cornish cove into the most connected valley on Earth.

When the Eastern Telegraph Company—the tech giant of its day—formed, Porthcurno became the beating heart of the British Empire's communication. It was the most important telegraph station on the planet. The international telegram, snaking proudly through thousands of miles of undersea cable, was the undisputed king of the sector.   

But then came a nasty rivalry that involved spying and subterfuge and theft and hurtful words. This is the juicy part. 

​The trouble started when a new technological marvel threatened to turn those expensive, hand-hauled cables into relics of the past. Nobody knew it yet, but that "wriggling serpent" dragged across the Atlantic would soon be facing a silent, lonely, death on the seafloor—despite all the hard work it took to pull it 2000 miles across the sea and drudge it up onto Porthcurno Beach.

From inside the PK Porthcurno Museum of Global Communications

It all started in 1888 when Heinrich Herz (of hertz and megahertz fame) discovered and produced radio waves. An article about these radio waves caught the eye of an Italian scientist named Guglielmo Marconi. The article suggested that radio waves could be used to communicate without needing cables. A light bulb went off in Marconi’s head (luckily these had recently been invented) and he started experimenting with sending signals using electromagnetic waves. No cables. No wires. No back-breakingly heavy serpents slithering on the beach.

In 1901, Marconi sent and received the first radio signals across the Atlantic Ocean, ignoring the pundits who predicted that the waves would be lost due to the curving of the earth over that long distance. Setting up a specially designed wireless receiver in Canada, he used a glass tube filled with iron filings and some balloons to lift the antenna way up high.

No unwieldy cables needed at all.

​And from where were those very first wireless telegrams sent? Just down the beach from Porthcurno in Poldhu, Cornwall.

​Marconi later described the moment the "pip-pip-pip" of the letter S crackled through his earphone, traveling 1,700 miles across the ocean without a single inch of copper wire to guide it. It was, as he put it, an "epoch in history."

From inside the PK Porthcurno Museum of Global Communications

Rightfully concerned that Marconi’s invention might pose a commercial threat to that 2000-mile-long cable that they just dragged across the world and hauled up on the beach, the Eastern Telegraph Company did what many companies do in times of trouble, they went into spy mode. They erected a massive, 170-foot wooden mast on the cliff directly above Porthcurno to eavesdrop on Marconi’s Poldhu station. It was hardly subtle—you could see it for miles—but it worked. ​

The telegraph company was not only able to record several of Marconi’s private messages and publish them in a magazine, but they intercepted a public demonstration by interjecting rude messages into the live broadcast. 
That’s what the article called them: “rude messages". 

The feud raged until, in a classic twist of corporate fate, a merger forced the rivals to play nice. They joined forces to become Cable & Wireless Limited. Probably the men who hauled that cable and built that mast and eavesdropped and came up with rude messages, as well as the men on Marconi's team who were appalled to discover their clever wireless invention was not as private as they thought, all lived happily ever after. The end.

Learn more about the PK Porthcurno Museum of Global Communications